Seasonings
by jasminedragons
Summary: Something short, something sweet. GSR.
1. First

**ai)**

Her smile was as bright as the Vegas lights.

Gap-toothed. Mega-watted. Sincere.

And it made his heart flip over more than Norman the Dummy did falling from that hotel rooftop.

**ii)**

Their fingers touch as he hands her the fingerprint powder and brush.

As he slides past her, he can feel her warm breath on his neck.

Their hips bump for a moment as he turns to look for Catherine.

_Thank God for airplane bathrooms._

**iii)**

He was surprised when she turned up, with a blanket and a thermos full of coffee to boot.

As she slid the blanket around his shoulders, shivers ran up and down his spine.

And it wasn't because of the cold.

Maybe decomposing pigs were more romantic than he thought.

**iv) **

He'd nearly gotten a heart attack when the "rapist" grabbed her. He was the first one to ask if she was alright, to comfort her, to berate her for doing something so dangerous in the first place.

They knew he didn't need to be there at all. What was a CSI Supervisor _doing _in the back seat of an unmarked FBI truck, watching the TV screens following a pretty brunette dressed in orange?

_Looking after his girl, of course._


	2. Second

**bi)**

_Ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven._

That's how fast his heart beat, he told her. This was what happened when he got pissed off.

How about a walk around the block, she asked. Clear your head a little.

And when he said no, she looked down for a second.

He was worried that he had upset her.

So it was a relief when she raised a hand to touch, brush, caress his cheek for a moment.

Chalk. From plaster.

_One hundred and ten, eleven, twelve._

**ii)**

He didn't mean to be insensitive.

He blamed the case; sometimes the adrenaline rush overwhelmed him so much that he was oblivious to people and their feelings.

When Catherine insisted on him getting her a plant, he grudgingly agreed, sounding like an idiot over the phone while addressing Veronica's Floral Shop.

"Yeah, hi. I'd like to get some flowers for a girl. No, no. Not flowers. A plant. A living plant. She likes vegetation. Yeah, that'd be fine. To a Sara Sidle. Deliver it at the CSI division, Las Vegas Police Department the one out on North Trop Boulevard. Yeah, you can bill me at the same place. Gil Grissom. The sentiment? Oh-oh, on the card. Yeah. Um, uh ... have it say ... have it say, uh ... 'From Grissom.' "

But it was only when Catherine had gone home did he call up the store again to change the order.

To a bouquet of roses.

**iii)**

She never did thank him for the flowers.

So of course he was worried, even more so when she gave him a chilly reception colder than the ice rink they were at.

Since when have _you _been interested in beauty?

He was going to say something about bugs, but then he caught the look on her face.

Since I met you.


	3. Third

**ci)**

He figured they'd get together eventually.

He never was the type to make the first move, having been used to the dark little corner he sat in, watching the world go by. Sometimes, he focused on one thing and immediately forgot about the rest.

At least now he knew why Sara had been so cold to him lately; he'd failed to notice the ongoing relationship (was it even called a relationship if one person was using another to make her boss jealous?) between her and a certain annoyingly handsome EMT.

If hearts could break, his would be in such a state that even superglue, duct tape and spit could not repair it.

**ii)**

She asked what she had to do.

He glanced up, taking in her lean, shapely figure. Her curly brown hair was tucked behind her ears, reflecting the glow of the swimming pool they were next to.

Even when he was angry with her, she could still make his heart thudthudthud.

"I paged you two hours ago."

"You told me to get a life. Remember?"

There was a hint of resentment in her otherwise joking tone.

And he didn't like that. 

"Did I?"

The smile slid off her face. He relished having spoilt her otherwise glorious day with what's-his-name--- _Hank _---an EMT with no brains.

"I'm sorry, but I needed you. Dispatch called in a 419 at Tuscadero High School. You're on your own."

He tried not to notice how The Look crossed her face: lips tightening to form a straight line, eyebrows coming down into a 'v', knuckles turning white around the handle of her kit.

When he finally looked at her, he realized she was shaking her head slightly.

A moment passed where their eyes locked; he knew exactly what she wanted to say to him.

However, she settled for "See you around."

As Sara walked away, he wished she had said what she'd been thinking instead.

**iii)**

They had been spending time together less and less.

Eventually, it got to the point where she even took a Leave of Absence at the lab to attend a convention on the other side of the country.

For one week.

So when she clambered out of the Tahoe with The Look, he plastered a huge smile on his face and, after a few seconds of listening to her complain, told her he needed her.

Did that ever shut her up.

**iv)**

He overheard Catherine and Nick talking about how she and _Hank_ had broken up.

When, he forgot.

Where, he didn't know.

Why, he didn't care.

Because she was finally free.

**v)**

Seeing her sitting by the road, cradling a gashed hand, made him do something so foolish, so fifteen.

"This doesn't look good, honey."

At once, her eyes widened, her heart rate quickened… 'Honey'?

And she finally thought something that was long gone had come back for her.

Hope.

**vi)**

He knew he broke her heart in two when he turned down her offer to go out for dinner.

She didn't understand; it wasn't like he didn't like her.

It was just… He had important things to take care of.

(And just for your information, he already realized "this".

He just didn't know what to do.)


End file.
